


always in your prime

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, FOOBAW!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3
Summary: happy birthday eva i had this finished but you know a niggie loves to question shit so chapter two shouldnt take long to be up lmao!!!! i lov eu bitch u r so special to me





	1. Chapter 1

“Last minute alterations are a what?” Beyoncé asks, standing still as she gets ripped seams on her costume sewn back up. She hates that everything in the world can’t automatically go smoothly right now. She doesn’t ask for much, at least she thinks she doesn’t. “A-”

 

“A bitch, babygirl,” her husband Jordan says as he walks into the room.

 

Her mood lifts instantly; she grins. “Baby, you aren’t supposed to be in here.”

 

He has a game to play (and win). She still knows nothing about football. Scratch that- she kind of does, but not enough to play it. Jordan’s in his grass-stained uniform, his hair damp because he’s been sweating so much. He runs a hand through it. His cleats squeak on the floor and it sparks Beyoncé’s head-to-toe sweep of him with her eyes. Everything is fine with him for the most part, but there’s a bruise on his left bicep. Beyoncé gets a bit concerned, but she loses her train of thought when Jordan’s standing face to face with her.

 

“Ain’t ‘posed to what?” Jordan asks, pecking Beyoncé on the lips. She laughs and he smiles. “That’s what I thought.”

 

“I wish you could see me,” Beyoncé says as Jordan tries to pull her to himself, his hands on her ass. Beyoncé tries to swat his hands away and the people sewing on her costume are frantically trying to keep up with her movements. “Stop, I’m getting my costume worked on.”

 

Jordan doesn’t move his hands. “I know, but-”

 

“‘But’ nothing,” Beyoncé says, looking at Jordan knowingly. He rolls his eyes and moves his hands away.

 

“I’ll catch you on tv at home,” Jordan says. “Or…” 

 

He looks at Beyoncé and raises his eyebrows.

 

“What?” Beyoncé asks, rolling her eyes and trying not to laugh.

 

“Well,” Jordan begins, “we put the kids to bed, sit on the couch together, turn the halftime show on, but you go, ‘I don’t wanna watch myself on tv right now,’ and you come and try to sit on this-”

 

“Kenny,” Beyoncé deadpans, trying to avoid having people that work with her hearing the rest of his undoubtedly lewd conversation that she’s incredibly interested in but also offended by because of the truth in his claim that she would only “try” to sit on Jordan’s dick. It’s true, but she’s not gonna kill her pride and admit it.

 

Jordan looks her in the eye defiantly. “Giselle.”

 

“Stop. Go back to where you’re supposed to be.”

 

“You know I like it when you call me that.”

 

“Wanna know what I like?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Football teams that win.”

 

“Fuck you,” Jordan says as he walks out. He pokes his head in the door a few seconds after disappearing. “Love you.”

 

“I love you too, but go!”

 

Beyoncé hears the heavy sounds of Jordan running off to his team. Her own team finishes with her costume and she goes to see her backup dancers. They’re all running through their steps and checking each other’s costumes; she smiles.

 

“You girls look beautiful,” she says as she watches them buzz with activity and anticipation. “Y’all ready?”

 

 

* * *

  
  


Millions of people are screaming Beyoncé’s name right now. Yes, she knows, millions of people aren’t in the stadium, but people are tuning in at home on tv and they count, too. She can’t hear them, but they count. She can, however, hear the screams of everyone in the stadium as she steps out onto the astroturf. She stands behind her drummers and when they pound on their drums, the sound sinks through her ears and right to her bones and gets absorbed by her cartilage. It shocks her like she stuck a fork in a socket- speaking of, she saved her four-year-old son from doing that a week ago- and it makes her feel alive. As her drummers part in front of her, steps calculated, she commands the stadium with her strong voice. Her steps are calculated as she marches ahead, her backup dancers behind her, and she hits all of her choreography amazingly. When she drops low she can't wait for Jordan to see it later, but when she holds her fist high up in the air a few seconds after, she  _ really  _ can’t wait for him to see.

  
  


***

 

“I did “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” at the Grammys,” Beyoncé says as she lays in bed with Jordan, “but I don’t know how people are gonna take this if I do it.”

 

“Do what the fuck you want, baby,” he says, twirling her hair around his finger as she lays on his chest. “That’s my input.”

 

Beyoncé sits up in bed, worry etched deep into her features. “I can’t just do what the fuck-”

 

Jordan sits up as well, staring her in the face and gripping her shoulder with a strong hand. “You believe in it?”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“‘But’ nothing. Do you fuckin’ want it?” Jordan asks.

 

“Yes,” Beyoncé says.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I wanna dress my dancers and myself up as Black Panthers and walk into that stadium and sing a song about loving myself while in my black ass skin.”

 

Beyoncé feels weird saying it out loud, but she repeats herself when Jordan asks her to and she says it with total confidence.

 

“Then babygirl, guess what I’m ‘bout to tell you,” Jordan says, holding her face and stroking her cheek with his thumb. They lock eyes; Jordan’s blinking slow because he’s tired- it’s their first night off in a long while, they’re both off from work at the same time. 

 

“Go get it.” Beyoncé says softly. She gently bites on Jordan’s thumb when it rests on her bottom lip and he smiles.

 

“That’s right. Go get it,” he says, kissing Beyoncé on the forehead.

  
  


***

 

She throws her ass in a circle and wishes Jordan could see it. Screams and music and the warm, electrifying feeling that performing brings fill her to the brim. Dancers form an arrow around her, making her the very point of it, and later they form an X. The other artist she’s sharing the performance with does his part, she does hers. For a second as she effortlessly moves through her dance, smile plastered on her face, her mind wanders to Jordan; what he could be doing, how she  _ so  _ badly wishes he could be watching her at the moment. She’s showing out for the people as always, of course, but mostly she’s showing out for him. 

 

She likes making him happy, she likes dancing for him and singing to him. Not only does it like it because he gives instant gratification- she  _ loves  _ that, fuck- but because she gets to do what she loves for who she loves, and that matters to her. Not what matters  _ most _ , but it matters. What matters most to her is the feeling of his hands on her after he sees her; what matters to her is the beautiful feeling she gets when she can feel him smiling against her skin, when he tells her to say his name, when he’ll feel around for her hand so that he can lock fingers with her. 

 

Beyoncé misses a step while she’s dancing and forces herself to focus her full attention on the situation at hand, catching herself before she falls on her ass and makes a complete fool of herself in front of millions and dancing the same ass she almost fell on off like nothing happened. She can give her all to Jordan later- not that it really gets put on hold anyway.


	2. constitution when it comes to you

“Daddy, you smell like champagne and wet towels,” Beyoncé and Jordan’s oldest son and oldest child overall Darius says, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he sits on the arm of the couch Beyoncé and Jordan are on.

 

“Ain’t it past your bedtime?” Jordan says, looking at Darius and lifting an eyebrow. “You need to put your brother and sister to sleep, anyway. Get your ass on, boy.”

 

Jordan’s hands are up Beyoncé’s shirt as she sits in his lap, and he’s rubbing her back. Beyoncé wishes Darius would get his egghead ass to bed.

 

“You’re so  _ rude _ ,” Darius says, snorting. He walks to the bedrooms through the kitchen and Jordan keeps his eye on him. Darius, however, does not keep an eye on his father, so he steals a sip of champagne from the bottle that’s open on the counter.

 

“Hey! Darius, get your ass to bed. Stop being fuckin’ childish,” Jordan barks, causing Darius to run upstairs. Jordan huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “That boy is something else, I swear.”

 

“Dad?” Darius calls from the top of the stairs.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Congrats on winning tonight, dad.”

 

“Thank you, Darius. I love you,” Jordan says, unmistakable sincerity in his voice.

 

Beyoncé turns Jordan’s head gently, his stubble poking at her fingers. “Hey.”

 

Then he looks at her, Jordan’s face softens even more than it already had when he’d talked to Darius. “Hey, baby. We about to watch your-”

 

Beyoncé hates herself; she’s trying to hold back a smile. “I don’t wanna watch myself on tv right now.”

 

Jordan looks confused for half a second before grinning. “That’s wassup.”

 

Beyoncé crawls off of him to sit next to him, kissing him sweetly. She’s about to pull away when Jordan holds her there a little longer, short, content hums easing their way out of him as he presses his lips to hers over and over. When they finally separate, Beyoncé gets on her knees, leaning over Jordan’s lap to lift his shirt up and kiss at his stomach that’s bruising. 

 

“Hey,” she says, looking at him and pressing another kiss to his stomach.

 

Jordan hums in response.

 

“Congrats on that winning touchdown, Jordy,” she says softly, smiling when his hand slides down her back so that he can grab at her ass. 

 

“Thank you, couldn't have done it without you,” Jordan says.

 

“How?”

 

“‘Cause I know your ass was up in that crowd somewhere watching me so I had to be impressive.”

 

“You don't gotta impress me, you have me already and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“But were you impressed?”

 

“Yes, and I wanna thank you,” Beyoncé says, dipping her head back down to kiss at his hard-on through his sweatpants. She puts her hair in a ponytail before she reaches into them, pulling his dick out and running her tongue up and down the side of it. She circles her tongue around the tip and kisses it, making eye contact with Jordan. 

 

“Fuck,” he says quietly, and it makes Beyoncé want to draw the reaction out of him as much as possible. His hand finds its way under her shorts, fingers digging into her ass before he uses his other hand to smack it roughly. She wonders if he notices how she didn't wear any underwear. When she takes him as far down her throat as she can, she bobs her head, hollows her cheeks and wraps a hand around the part she can't fit in her mouth and strokes him. He grabs her ponytail. “You can’t go any further?”

 

Beyoncé hears the challenging tone he’s using, how it’s slightly patronizing, and feels like she  _ has  _ to push to do her best- Jordan did his best that day, after all, so she should too. She pulls off of Jordan, licking her lips and blinking at him.

 

“What’s that?” she asks.

 

She wants to hear him ask it again.

 

“I said, ‘You can’t go any further?’”

 

“Why don’t you find out?” Beyoncé asks, making Jordan take it as an immediate prompt to grab her ponytail and guide her head back down. She decides to mess with him, not opening her mouth.

 

“Don’t play with me. Open your mouth,” Jordan says, trying not to crack a smile.

 

Beyoncé, however, does not try to hide her own grin. “Sorry, daddy,” she says, opening her mouth. Jordan slides into it easily, thrusting shallowly; Beyoncé does surprisingly well when it comes to gagging less, accidentally moaning around him when his dick hits the back of her throat and he groans. After a while, her jaw starts to hurt, but she’s so used to the sensation after countless blowjobs that she can kind of gloss over it. Kind of.

 

She sticks her tongue out so that it can run along the underside of his dick while he fucks her mouth, looking up at him and batting her eyes. She’s a little glad that she has his dick in her mouth, because otherwise she’d be fussing at him about how it’s too big. She would laugh at the thought but she’s busy.

 

“Spit on it,” Jordan says and pulls her off of him, biting his lip hard. Beyoncé takes in a quiet gasp of a breath and does what he tells her to, and then he’s asking her to do it again. She obliges.  He gently pulls her head up, making her come face to face with him so he can kiss her and unbutton her shorts with one hand. She gets up to kick them off and straddles him, her hands on his shoulders, and she kisses him deeply. She’s so lost in him that she shrieks into his mouth when he shifts his hips and slowly eases into her.

 

“Jordan,” she whines, “fuck, I wasn’t-”

 

“Daddy,” he reminds her as he pushes down on her ass to make her sit on his dick fully. He’s stronger than her so she lets him have his way, and buries her face in his shoulder, brow furrowed as she tries to take time to adjust. Out of nowhere, Jordan thrusts up into her, making her squeak. She wonders how it’s taken so long from her to die from shock- she feels like she could do it now. “You move slow.”

 

Beyoncé groans, exasperated, and lifts her head up to look at him, deciding she has somewhat of a death wish. “Are you done? ‘Cause I was gonna ride you.”

 

Jordan’s eyes light up and Beyoncé would rather die than carry on any further, but she pushes him back to rest on the couch, bracing herself by gripping the back of it. She starts grinding against him, which is the cop-out of the century and she hopes lasts as long as possible, biting her lip and humming at the feeling of him stretching her out. Jordan kills her moment of peace.

 

“When you gonna start riding me?” he asks.

 

Beyoncé is in for a long night, and she hopes she dies or gets interrupted before it’s over.


	3. all the right things

Jordan tilts Beyoncé’s head back to kiss at her jaw, moving down from there to her chin before biting gently down her neck until he gets to her shoulders, kissing along them as Beyoncé rides him, whining above him. He grabs her hips tightly, fingers digging into her skin, no doubt hard enough to leave bruises, and Beyoncé feels so good that she die on the spot. She can feel Jordan’s breath on her skin. The jersey with his number on it that she’s wearing comes off and Jordan is grabbing on her breasts. She dips her head down to kiss him, her lips grazing against his, light as a feather.

 

He holds her down by her hips to keep her still so he can kiss her, gently sweeping the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. She slides her tongue against his slowly, shallowly, pulling back so he can chase her mouth with his own, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips and gently tugging on her bottom one with his teeth. He grinds up against her and that long with the tingle in her lips that comes from kissing him eases a high sigh out of her. Beyoncé carefully lifts her hips and lowers them again, getting back into a rhythm that’s a little rougher than before, lips parted and no sound coming from them. Jordan grabs at her ass and leaves hard smacks on it, one after the other in quick succession. She has to bite her lip to keep from being too loud, and she takes extra caution and buries her face in his shoulder.

 

“Feels good, huh?” Jordan breathes quietly. The answer is yes, it is, but Beyoncé’s too prideful to admit it. “And here your ass was dragging your feet and acting like you were too good for it.”

 

Beyoncé keeps her mouth closed when she comes, and what could’ve been a whine that could’ve been heard from upstairs is a whimper that’s only for Jordan. She relaxes, chest pressed against his, and when his arms slip around her and hold her to him, she wants to die for about the hundredth time that night. He fucks her slowly, groaning, and when she tightens around him he mutters a satisfied “fuck.” She’s happy. 

 

“Didn’t I make up for it?” she asks, wanting to cry at the overstimulation she’s feeling but holding off on it.

 

“You did, babygirl, and thank you,” Jordan responds, rolling his hips and getting deep. Beyoncé’s back arches, but not fully because Jordan’s strong arms are holding her down. His thrusts start to get sloppier and he’s panting; Beyoncé is crying, and she feels like she’s close to coming again. Jordan comes with half of a loud moan- the only reason it isn’t a full one is because Beyoncé covers his mouth. Jordan has to do the same for her, and while they’re both coming down, they giggle.

 

Jordan takes the rubber band out of Beyoncé’s hair so that he can twirl the ends around his fingers; it’s what he’s used to, and Beyoncé likes it. 

 

“Did you do what we talked about you doing?” Jordan asks.

 

“Yep.”

 

“How’d you feel?”

 

“Really good.”

 

“See? You did what the fuck you wanted to,” Jordan says, grinning. He holds Beyoncé tighter so he can stand up with her and carry her upstairs. Beyoncé just stares at him and feels… warm. His smile is pretty, his eyes are beautiful, his soul is too, and she likes that- but also Jordan didn’t pull out when he got up and she’s suffering.

 

“Thank you,” Beyoncé says.

 

“I love you, don’t thank me,” Jordan tells her.

 

“Jordan?”

 

“What’s good?”

 

“Please pull out as soon as possible.”

 

Jordan snickers. 

 

“Who’s laughing? Not me!” Beyoncé whispers.

 

“It’s okay, ‘cause I am.”


	4. let them care if they care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no i did not proofread any of this. happy birthday! i suck.

Beyoncé has a dreamless sleep. Nothing’s going on in her brain, just some REM cycle stuff. She’s comfortable, she thinks. She’s not sure because there’s something pricking at her neck, and now her shoulder, and now her stomach, and now her-

 

She sits up and sees Jordan looking up at her. “Morning,” he says with a grin.

 

“It’s too early for this, J.”

 

“But,” he says, kissing up and down her thighs, “is it? It’s 10 A.M.”

 

Beyoncé stares at him. He grins expectantly and she can’t say no. “...Fine, but make it quick. We have to go visit some friends today.”

 

“Bet,” he tells her, holding her legs open and licking at her slowly one time before pushing a thick finger into her. She runs her hands through his hair, which hasn’t been done because- she guesses, at least- the first thing on his mind was her, which she appreciates greatly. Jordan bites at her inner thigh and his thumb slowly rubs little circles into the other. 

 

Her senses are slowly growing less and less dull and she’s getting wetter the longer his head is settled between her thighs. He circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, easing another finger into her, and he’s going so slow that she’s about to lose it. However, the just-as-slow spread of warmth throughout her says otherwise. He stops to nose at the space where her hip and pelvic bones connect, humming like he’s a fresh retiree on his first sunny mid-April day of vacation in Jamaica or something. 

 

“I love you,” he tells her.

 

“Mhm,” Beyoncé says. She loves him too, sure, but if he’s gonna start something, she needs him to finish it, so when he presses his fingers deep into her and doesn’t move them, she whines and tries to grind gently against his face.

 

Jordan presses light kisses above her clit and she could kill him. “Wait,” he says, and she could not only kill him, but throw his body into a ditch somewhere nobody who gives a shit’ll find it. She feels a little better about him when he sucks on her clit, drawing his fingers out of her before slowly pushing them back into her and curving them up. Beyoncé has to focus a lot of her strength on not clamping her thighs around his head, but when he adds a third finger and comes up to kiss her, making her taste herself on his tongue, she can’t help but to trap his arm between her thighs and gasp into his mouth. She feels him smile against her own and moves his fingers at a more consistent pace- it’s still slow, but she’s grateful for it, but she’s that much closer to coming now.

 

“Baby,” she whines when Jordan moves back down to lick at her clit lazily. She jolts when there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Mama!” Jordan and Beyoncé’s middle child, Michael, says through the door.

 

Beyoncé looks at Jordan, and they wordlessly debate who’s gonna handle the situation- whatever it is- and Jordan lifts his eyebrows as if to tell her that he’s busy, and Beyoncé rolls her eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?” she calls.

 

“Darius won’t stop messing with my PS4!” he complains.

 

Beyoncé rolls her eyes harder, but she can’t tell if it’s because Jordan won’t stop leisurely flicking at her clit with his tongue or because Darius is seventeen and he can’t leave his fucking brother alone (or at least explain the concept of sharing to him). 

 

“Tell your brother I told you to-” Beyoncé cuts herself off with a mouthed “fuck,” when Jordan quietly hums while his mouth is on her. “share.”

 

“HEY!” Michael screams, “MAMA SAID YOU GOTTA SHARE, BITCH!”

 

“NO SHE _AIN’T_ ,” Darius screams right back. “LET ME PLAY MY GAME.

 

Jordan rolls his eyes and lifts his head, taking in a breath so he can yell. “STOP THAT FUCKIN’ SCREAMING FROM ACROSS THE DAMN HOUSE.” 

 

Silence. Beyoncé swears she was another authoritatively shouted word from an orgasm. Jordan smiles and goes back to sucking on Beyoncé’s clit, fingering her quicker than he ever has this morning, and she squeaks out Jordan’s name before she comes, his head trapped between her thighs. He keeps licking at her as she comes down, sometimes opting to lick and suck on his fingers while he traces a straight line up and down the side of her thigh, and all of it almost puts her back to sleep because it’s so much. Jordan comes up to kiss her again, this time it’s languid and he’s grabbing her face gently. Beyoncé stares at him for a second before he cracks a grin, and Beyoncé does the same.

 

“Morning, daddy,” Beyoncé says with a hum.

 

Jordan shakes his head, smiling. “Watch it.”

 

***

 

Beyoncé hands Jordan the edible arrangement she bought as a housewarming gift for her friend Yaris and her new wife. “Take this in there for me, I’ll be there in a minute. I just need to call Darius and tell him to drive Trey to basketball practice.”

 

Jordan puts on a nasally voice and imitates his eleven-year-old. “My name is Trey, I got a basketball game tomorrow, I’m a point guard-”

 

“That poor boy ain’t here to defend himself, leave him alone,” Beyoncé chastises, trying to hide her laugh. “Go take this in for me.”

 

“Bet,” he says, stepping out of the car and waking to the front door. He rings the doorbell and stands there. 

 

Beyoncé’s phone rings and she picks up immediately. “He-llo.”

 

“I think one of their kids is at the door,” Jordan says quietly. “They got kids, right?”

 

“No, that’s-”

 

“Then who the fuck is this? They’re as tall as Darius was when he was- shit... like, eight.” Jordan asks.

 

“That’s Yaris’ wife, I told you.”

 

“Shit, when?”

 

“When we went to that little engagement party they threw last year.”

 

“Wow… I guess-” Jordan hangs up.

 

Beyoncé runs inside after him a few seconds later. Nobody’s in the living room, so she takes a chance and runs into the kitchen, and there everyone is, especially Jordan’s loud ass.

 

“I see y’all got y’all’s little gay thing still. That’s nice,” Jordan says as he kisses Yaris and her wife on the cheeks. “Y’all look great. I’mma buy y’all a pair of stilts or an apple crate or some shit like that. I’mma hook y’all up so you ain’t gotta stand on ya tiptoes no more. I got y’all.”

  
Beyoncé cringes and mouths her apologies for him to them over his shoulder; they just laugh. Sometimes she forgets how myths about how dumb football players can be are actually true, but Jordan loves to remind her. She doesn’t mind- that’s  _ her   _ dumb jock, so she’s fine.


End file.
